Revenge of the Harlequin
by abygonevexation
Summary: The Harlequin, a merciless assassin, takes revenge on a King that has internally destroyed a city for nothing but his own greed.


"You. Come here," the voice of the King demanded with a greedy finger outstretched and pointing at the oddest dressed man within the Castle walls. Gracefully, the man stepped forward- he was dressed as a jester, made to look like naught but a King's fool. Only a few steps away, he bowed his head, staring at the King through the mask that veiled his identity.

"Yes, my lord?"

"I would like you to organize a performance for the festival in the city which begins in three days time. You have until then to prepare it, which you will perform in front of myself and a select audience. Leave now, jester, you have not long to prepare." With a flick of his wrist, his finger now pointed to the door.

The Harlequin's smile was always there, almost mockingly, because of the mask that seemed to be permanently attached to him. It was his persona, the entire piece that his personality was based around. On the outside, he was nothing but a jester, only placed on the world to amuse Kings and Queens for money. There is a twisted smile and a gaudy, appropriate costume for all the world to see, but beneath the costume...

Lurking beneath that viciously destructive mask is the soul and mind of a merciless assassin. He has been using the name of "Harlequin" for so many years now that he no longer has recollection of his proper, given-at-birth name. He was the one who took down his family, all by himself, because they didn't deserve the title of King and Queen, nor Prince and Princess. They didn't respect the throne, they only materialized it. His family had become too greedy and took things too often from their own people, just for their own personal gain.

The Harlequin had had enough. When they'd come home from a ball one night, one that he'd opted out of by pretending he had fallen ill, he assassinated them. And he had fled from the city by the time their bodies collapsed upon the floor.

_**THREE DAYS LATER...**_

The King's warning sunk deep into the Harlequin's mind and he spent night and day, plotting and planning of the perfect show to thrust upon his King. He wanted it to take his breath away- blow his mind, leave him speechless and attempting (yet failing) to register what he had just witnessed. And he'd come up with the most perfect routine that one could possibly imagine.

Night had fallen upon the beautiful city of Roma, in 1421. The buildings were pristine, both inside and out and unmatched in any other city, especially not anywhere outside of Italy. The Harlequin fit right in at the festival. Everywhere he looked, people were adorned with masks, odd costumes and drinks in their hands. After all, this was a celebration. He pushed through the crowd, only gently, so as not to draw attention to himself and finally arrived at the door of the Castle.

"Buona sera, compagno," he said with a bow. Despite the smile that was present, his voice was solemn- demanding, even though the situation had no demanding factors. He explained that he was the King's entertainment and the Royal Guard in front of the door moved aside and let the man through. He nodded politely, muttering thank you's to each as he walked in and heard the door shut behind him with an echo through the beautifully decorated halls. However, the man paid no attention to the aesthetically pleasing vision before him.

Finally, he pushed open the doors of the room where he was going to reveal his routine to the King for the first and last time. A smile pushed up his cheeks beneath the mask, but nobody was present to see it- not like they could, regardless.

The Harlequin had set up the room where his performance was going to be perfectly. The King was going to enter from one side and all of his guests, seated in the back, but in the darkness where they could not be seen. The room was dimly lit as it were and the light only shone on the Harlequin and the King- just the way he wanted it to be. His attention was snapped back to the present when the King entered from the opposite side of the room and the Harlequin dashed into the middle, standing still now as the King took a seat.

"Good to see you, my friend," the King announced, and the jester nodded his head in return, greatly appreciating the kindness that the King bestowed upon him. "Please, carry on," he said and it was obvious that something troubled him, if he wanted the performance to go on so quickly. But the Harlequin silently obliged and began to move around the room, dancing and jumping around like a fool.

He did several tricks, such as handstands, cart-wheels, backflips and other things of that nature, some of which made the King laugh and chortle, but finally, the performance had ended, to a well-deserved round of applause from the King. However, he noticed that something was wrong. He was the only one clapping, in what was supposed to be a roomful of guests...

"Why do they not clap, jester?" The King asked, almost demandingly. The Harlequin stood straight up now, arms raised high above his head. He clapped once, and the lights immediately brightened. The King let out a horrified noise and stumbled back into his throne, shaking and wide-eyed. From the ceiling, the ears of his guests were dangling down on strings. In the back of the room, all of the King's beloved guests sat perfectly straight, like puppets at a mock trial of sorts.

"They are listening very closely, my Lord. I only wish you had done the same." Without a moment's notice, the Harlequin lunged forward and expertly removed two of his Rondel daggers, digging one just beneath The King's chest and flipping over him, while stabbing the other in his neck and finally, using the first knife to puncture the King's right lung while standing behind him, perfectly perched on the King's throne as he sat on the edge.

"For months now, you've taken unnecessary things from the good people of Roma and cast many people out of their homes. And for what? Simply to show that you have power? Well, you have power no longer. Your life had rested within the palm of my skillful hands since the moment your greasy finger drew itself to me. But now you will be left alone, just as you have truly always been. Requiescat in pace," he whispered into the King's ear before he took his daggers out of the man's body and put them back at his belt, sprinting off through the castle and back outside, to rejoin the partying citizens of Roma.


End file.
